


Well, that was a mistake

by PandaMega



Series: Not like this [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaMega/pseuds/PandaMega
Summary: Stiles says "I don't want to die a virgin" and sends Derek into a downward spiral of guilt and responsibility and desire that leaves him making bad decisions for worse reasons.





	Well, that was a mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I'm opening commissions! (even though I have a bunch of fics I need to update but ugg i hate editing and i need money lol)
> 
> I'm late to this fandom, but, whatever.  
This fic takes place in canon verse pretty much any time I guess. In my head nobody actually dies though so the pack is still a pack, but it doesn't really matter for this fic since it's pretty much just Stiles and Derek in Beacon Hills.

“I don’t want to die a virgin,” 

It’s half laughed, half choked out in a hoarse, gurgling voice just above a whisper. Stiles regrets saying it instantly for the cracked-open look of guilt on Derek’s face. 

“Stiles,” Derek seems to search for the right words, “You’re not going to die.”

“We’re all going to die,” Stiles laughs, never missing an opportunity for black humor and hoping to end the conversation.

They don’t die that night. 

Stiles’s words stick with Derek, they haunt him, whispering past him when Stiles flails into the loft, his sweet scent turning spicy when they lay eyes on each other. They reverberate whenever Stiles flushes, whenever his eyes linger on Derek, “I don’t want to die a virgin,” morphing into “don’t let me die a virgin, Derek.” The potential gives him a thrill as much as it makes him sick with self-loathing. 

Stiles doesn’t want to die a virgin. What Stiles does want is glaringly obvious, Stiles wants Derek. And Derek could give that to him. So easily,  _ too _ easily. See, the problem is that Derek  _ wants  _ to give himself to Stiles. Sexually. (And every other way, really, but that’s a whole other issue). It’s a problem because Derek doesn’t get what he wants. Whenever it does, it goes horribly, horribly wrong for all parties involved, and in the off chance things don’t dissolve into chaos, well, Derek simply doesn’t  _ deserve  _ to get what he wants and have it work out. It would be fine if Derek were to selflessly sacrifice himself for Stiles’s sake, but that’s not how it would be. His intentions are absolutely tainted with self-indulgence. How despicable, right? Derek doesn’t deserve to satisfy that bone-deep, fatalistic instinct he feels whenever he thinks of Stiles, and Stiles deserves better. Stiles deserves better than Derek. Stiles’s first time deserves to be with someone better. 

But Stiles doesn’t want better. 

Stiles wants Derek. 

Stiles wants Derek and doesn’t want to die a virgin. And Stiles, Stiles, for once in his messed up life deserves to get what he wants, doesn’t he?

It’s a terrible paradox and Derek should just forget about it, forget Stiles ever said anything. But if Stiles died (which would inevitably be Derek’s fault, of course), would he feel better or worse knowing Stiles at least got one thing he wanted? Well, Derek would feel terrible either way, it’s his default and little would change that, so the better question is which way would be less terrible for Stiles?

* * *

Derek ends up climbing in through Stiles’s bedroom window on impulse. It’s the dead of night but Stiles is awake, as usual, flailing at his desk from the sudden intrusion. He’s in the middle of explaining that he has a perfectly functional front door when Derek steps into his personal space, kicks his feet apart to fit between his knees and plants both hands on the back of his desk chair to loom over him. The chair leans back with a precarious squeak and Stiles’s words die in his throat. His eyes dilate rapidly, his scent turns from slightly bittersweet to warm and spicy and  _ inviting, _ and Derek just lets himself bury his face in Stiles neck and breathe him in. Stiles sits frozen under him, swallows, throat sliding under Derek’s lips, and opens his mouth to say something glib, but never makes it. Derek just takes. He slides a hand behind Stiles head and angles their mouths together and makes their lips  _ fit _ . Stiles is slack-jawed and Derek doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue inside greedily, licking into him like a starved man.

An involuntary moan slips from Stiles’s throat and then he’s all action, kissing back fervently, disbelievingly. 

Stiles is half convinced he’s having an extremely vivid hallucination, but he’s not about to stop and question it because Derek, Derek is sliding his hands over him, wide and warm, slipping around his hips and  _ gripping.  _ Then Stiles isn’t sitting in his chair anymore. His legs wrap automatically around Derek’s waist and the feeling of vertigo he gets as he’s lifted into the air makes his stomach swoop, or maybe it’s the thing Derek’s doing with his tongue. Their lips don’t separate during the short walk to the bed, and then Stiles is falling backwards by the sure, slow guidance of Derek’s hands. He feels secure in the same time that he feels utterly vulnerable, and it’s all so, so,  _ hot _ .

Derek Hale should be illegal.

When Stiles is laid out on the bed like an offering and the werewolf climbs on top of him Stiles feels every nerve ending in his body light up in arousal. Derek is literally on top of him. In a sexual way. Large, hands, too hot to be human, slip under his shirt, burning a path over his skin. His muscles flex under the touch, back arches involuntarily, he feels so good and he wants more. Wants more bare skin, more contact, more teeth and tongue and  _ fuck _ , Derek grinds his hips down and  _ yes,  _ he needs more of  _ that _ .

Stiles’s hands scrabble to pull off Derek’s shirt, only manages to slide his hands underneath the threadbare fabric before he’s distracted by all the rippling planes of firm muscle of Derek’s back. His doesn’t know what he’s doing but his body seems to have developed a mind of its own because his fingers dig deep into Derek’s back and he rolls his body up into the space between them and Derek groans into his mouth, kiss going sloppy with a hint of untamed fang. He’s lightheaded, doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life. This is all his favorite guilty pleasure wet dreams come true. How is this even real life? What is happening?

Wait.

_ What is happening. _

A flutter of panic shoots through his chest and Derek, hearing the stutter in Stiles’s heartbeat, pulls back, frowning, concerned. 

_ Oh. What _ . Since when did Derek show concern. Since when did Derek climb into his window and start kissing him out of the blue instead of making demands or bleeding out on the floor? Since when did Derek look at Stiles like this, touch him like this? 

Something had to be wrong.

His frantic thoughts are cut off by Derek’s voice, “What’s wrong?” 

Stiles blinks for a couple seconds before blurting out “Dude, I should be asking you that!” And then the floodgates open. Derek sits back, face closing off as he listens.

“What’s going on?! What are you doing? Are you okay? Did you get cursed? Is it a spell? Witches or faeries? Or is it sex pollen?”

“... What.”

“I mean,” Stiles flails a hand between them in an attempt to indicate the position they’re in and what had just transpired between them. “This is, we don’t do this, why are you doing this? Should I be worried? I mean, I  _ am _ worried, as I assume I should be, because something is clearly wrong with you. Because why else would you, you know,” and then he vaguely gestures at his entire teenage body as if it explains everything.

Derek stares back at him looking uncomfortable and slightly resentful before answering “Nothing is wrong.”

“Oookay…” Stiles studies him for a long minute, growing more uncomfortable by the second, because he’s still rock-hard and Derek’s sitting on his thighs looking debauched and if he’d just kept his damn mouth shut they’d probably already be naked by now but instead he had to assume the worst and now he has to follow through with his interrogation when he’d rather just carry on with the making out and hopefully sex. “Care to explain what’s going on then?”

Derek watches him internally berate himself while struggling through his own personal agony, because, what  _ is  _ he doing here. This was a terrible mistake.

“Well?!”

“You,” Derek starts, pauses, struggles for the right words, is too afraid to say something too honest like, “I’m here because I want to be,” or worse, “I’m here because I want you,” because that’s terrifying and impermissible in the Book of Derek. So instead he says probably the worst possible thing his can say. “You didn’t want to die a virgin.”

Derek can almost feel Stiles go cold beneath him. All the blood seems to freeze up in Stiles’s veins. All that hot, hot arousal suddenly chilled and gone sour.

“So, what, you decided you’d be the ritual sacrifice?” Stiles surprises himself by how low and controlled his voice is when he starts, slowly letting the anger seep in as he grows louder, “Save the poor human by sacrificing your body? Because that’s your solution to everything isn’t it? Something makes you uncomfortable? Throw yourself bodily at it and let it tear you apart. Because you’ll heal, right?”

Stiles pushes at Derek’s chest, and god what a firm chest, but he needs all of that just, not touching him right now.

“What were you thinking? You just thought we’d fuck, then, what? After you do your duty to cure me of my virginity did you think you could just slip away duty-free and then we’d just, you know, go back to normal with pack meetings and you breaking into my room to bleed all over the floor like nothing changed?”

_ Fuck. _ Derek hadn’t thought that far ahead, and now he was sitting wide eyed and panicked. Obviously they wouldn’t just pretend like nothing ever happened, but it’s not like they could date either. They weren’t Scott and Allison, would never be, and honestly wouldn’t want to be. There was also the issue where Stiles was 17, his dad was the sheriff, and Derek was a werewolf with a questionable criminal history. 

“If you think I’d rather get pity fucked than die a virgin you’re an idiot.”

The words are a slap in the face. Derek, gutted, finds himself hating himself more than he has in a long while. 

“Just… go.”

“Stiles,” it comes out more like a whine, it was pitiful, Derek doesn’t even know what he was intending to say, he just felt awful and was desperate for Stiles to make it better, but there’s no making it better because Derek fucked up and Stiles was giving him permission to escape.

A moment later the curtains were fluttering and Stiles’s room felt significantly colder and very empty. 

Stiles did not cry. 

He took a scaldingly hot shower and any tears that left his eyes were very manly and the result of too-hot water or stinging soap.

Derek just runs, mortified, into the night, regretting everything, so, a typical Sunday.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a part 2 that will be coming eventually... eventually... all will work out to your smutty satisfaction.
> 
> in the mean time, commission me! or harass me on tumblr @pandamega


End file.
